


sweetest in the middle

by beygood



Series: any time, any place [2]
Category: Drake (Musician) RPF, Zayn Malik (Musician), Zayn Malik (Musician) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Facials, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Size Kink, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-22 20:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4849652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beygood/pseuds/beygood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn has a to-do list and drake is determined to help him check every single thing off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweetest in the middle

**Author's Note:**

> this is 90% sex and sex negotiation?? i'm sorry?? hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> title from 'blow' by beyonce.
> 
> http://bizexualzayns.tumblr.com/

It’s been two weeks since Miami and Zayn feels like he might be going insane. For the past fourteen days, he’s had nothing but Drake on his mind and, had he been in a position to turn words into actions, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But, he’s back in LA and Drake is God knows where and he’s not yet worked up the courage to take the older man up on his incredibly generous offer.

It’s not that he’s changed his mind and is trying to figure out how to let Drake down easy, it’s that he feels like he’s already way too invested in this and he doesn’t know what that means. He’s not looking for another relationship right now (and he doesn’t think Drake is either), but he also feels some kind of way about this being a sex only deal. Calling it ‘friends with benefits’ seems presumptuous considering him and Drake haven’t known each other long enough to really be friends.

Being unable to label what they are is frustrating because Zayn hates ambiguity; he likes to know exactly where he stands with someone and doesn’t do well with shades of gray. The only thing he’s sure about is that he wants whatever Drake is willing to give him and he doesn’t think that’s enough.

So, he lets two weeks crawl by slow as molasses, during which he spends most of his time agonizing over how to approach this. When he isn’t agonizing, he’s wanking to the memories of Drake pulling him into his lap and making him cum. It’s not his most productive bit of time ever and by the end of it, he’s chafing in more ways than one.

He knows he can’t continue on like this for much longer because his dick feels like it might shrivel up and fall off if he tries to touch it again and the emotional conflict makes him want to sleep all day. Something has to be done and Zayn hates that he’s the one who’s got to do it.

In the end, it takes some psyching up and a lot of liquid courage for him to thumb over Drake’s personal number in his contact list and press ‘call’. He nearly drops his phone when Drake answers, fumbling a bit before he can get it back up to his ear.

“Hey,” he says quickly, trying not to sound as drunk as he is.

“Wassup?” Drake’s voice sounds sleep-rough and Zayn nearly smacks himself for not thinking of the time before now.

“Sorry for calling so late I just - uh - I - I needed to tell you -” Zayn pauses, swallowing thickly as he pushes himself through what he wants to say. “I’m sure. About wanting more with you, I mean.”

There’s a long moment of silence and Zayn would think the call got dropped if he couldn’t hear Drake’s breathing over the line, clear as anything.

“You are, huh?”

Without thinking, Zayn lets out a loud, relieved sigh. Once he remembers that Drake can actually hear him, he feels embarrassed enough that he blushes. For the first time since that night, he’s grateful for the distance between them.

“Yes. I know this is sudden and the timing is weird as all hell and I’m not sure if you’re even interested still because I took so long but ‘m hoping you are because I am and I dunno what I’d do if it turned out I’d ruined everything -”

“Zayn.”

“Fuck, ‘m sorry, I should’ve waited -”

“ _Zayn_. Don’t take this the wrong way but could you shut the fuck up for a second?”

Drake doesn’t actually sound upset, but Zayn won’t test his theory. He clamps his mouth shut and waits.

“First of all, I said you could call me any time and I meant it. Second, I’m still very much interested in you. I’d still feel that way even if you’d taken months. I wanted you to think about this, remember? Wouldn’t have told you to do that if I couldn’t be patient about it.”

“ _Why_?” Zayn asks, genuinely mystified at Drake’s willingness to accommodate him thus far.

“Because I’m a gentleman,” Drake responds, sounding vaguely offended. “And because I’d be popping your cherry and I don’t want you to regret it.”

“But I’ve been with other people before? I’m not like, some clueless virgin.”

“You’ve been with _women_.” Drake corrects him in an infuriatingly gentle way that only serves to make Zayn more defensive.

“Well it can’t be that different.” A tinny laugh rattles through the line and it goes on for longer enough that it makes Zayn feel like he’s being mocked. The alcohol does nothing to help Zayn to combat the wave of sourness that washes over him. “Alright, alright. I get it. I’m an idiot.”

“A little bit, yeah,” Drake says cheerfully, completely unaffected by the change in his disposition. “I don’t mean to make you feel shitty about this it’s just - you’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. I know you’ve thought about it, but there’s a difference between half-baked fantasies and specifically thinking about what it’s like to get fucked.”

Zayn draws in a sharp breath, set slightly off kilter by the sudden intrusion of that new image into his thoughts.

“Do you have any idea of what that might feel like? Huh?” Drake’s not asking to be combative or to be able to say ‘I told you so’. He’s not putting any pressure on Zayn to tell him what he wants to hear, but Zayn is reluctant to be honest anyway. “Do you even know if penetration’s something you’d enjoy? Not every guy does.”

“I’ll just have to try it then, won’t I?” Zayn retorts, sounding way bolder than he actually feels.

Drake hums like he’s thinking it over, assessing whether or not Zayn can actually handle what he has in mind.

“If you’re sure,” he says after a while.

“I am!” It occurs to Zayn that he should feel a little embarrassed about how earnest and eager he sounds, but he does his best to push the thought away. He’s still learning how to pursue what he wants without feeling ashamed of it.

When a breathy chuckle passes from Drake’s end of the line to his, he knows that the other man has been properly convinced and he’s grinning like a madman before Drake actually says, “Alright.”  

With that sorted, the only thing left to deal with is hashing out the details associated with meeting up again. They’re both busy, but Drake’s schedule is far more of a challenge to navigate than Zayn’s. It takes some time and a lot of decidedly un-sexy talk about calendar coordination, but they settle on a weekend nearly a month from today. Before they say their goodbyes, Drake tells Zayn do some research so he can figure out what he might like to try. Zayn agrees, but doesn’t think to ask what the other man means by “research” until after the line goes dead.

When his vision goes fuzzy and he nearly breaks his neck trying to get up the stairs to his bedroom, he decides that he’ll figure it out in the morning.

***

 

For the next twenty-seven days (not that he’s counting or anything), Zayn manages his nervous energy by throwing himself into his work. When he’s not in meetings with his new management, he spends most of his time in the studio working on tracks or writing new songs to flesh out the body of his album. Time passes quickly when he’s not fixating on what’s going to happen when Drake finally flies out to LA to see him.

He’s not nervous about it until the night before, when all his anxieties about what could go wrong hit him like a freight train. He’s certain about how much he wants Drake, but he’s not sure that the reverse will still be true when the other man arrives. He works himself up over a rejection that might not happen, so when his phone informs him that he has one new text message from ‘Aubrey’, Zayn’s half-expecting that it’ll say Drake’s not interested anymore.

He puts off reading it for a while, but eventually he works up the courage to open it and the contents of the message makes his cheeks flush. It starts off innocently enough, with Drake letting him know what time his flight’s going to get in and how long it’ll take him to get to Zayn’s place. After that though, the text shifts into explicit advice on the best ways to prepare himself for what might happen tomorrow.

At this point, Zayn’s read enough that nothing in the text really surprises him. What catches him off guard is the complete lack of pretense. Drake’s not playing any games or joking around with him; he’s flying to Los Angeles and staying for three days so they can _fuck_.

The knowledge sends an unbearable rush of heat through Zayn’s body and he wonders if he’s going to survive this.

 

***

 

Zayn doesn’t wake up until after two in the afternoon, but once he drags himself out of bed, he spends the few hours before Drake arrives making sure his house is in order literally and figuratively.

By the time he feels prepared enough to relax, dusk is settling over the city and it bathes him in the orange-pink shades of the setting sun as he plops onto his couch. He fiddles with his phone while he waits, taking selfies and posting them on Instagram to pass the time. He gets a good chuckle out of the comments his fans write on them as he always does. They’re quickly forgotten, however, when a little black notification bar pops up at the top of the screen. The text just reads, ‘ _outside_ ,’ but it still sets Zayn’s heart racing.

It takes a lot of self control for Zayn to stop himself from running full pelt to the door.  When he gets there, he has to take a breath before opening it. True to his word, Drake is standing on the other side.

Zayn’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. They haven’t seen each other for almost two months and he’s forgotten how much better Drake looks in the flesh than in photographs. With minimal stammering, Zayn invites him inside and makes sure the door is shut tight behind him.

They catch up as Zayn gives him a quick tour of the house. The small talk does a lot to calm Zayn’s nerves and by the time they end up back in the living room, he feels comfortable enough to tuck himself into Drake’s side when they sit together.

“So,” Drake starts after he wraps an arm around Zayn’s shoulders. “What’s on your mind?” The question is phrased vaguely, but Zayn knows exactly what he’s asking about.

“Well. I did - ah - _research_ like you said and I’ve got a list.” He tries his best not to seem embarrassed about it. All things considered the list, though long, is quite tame. There are some things on it that he’s not sure Drake will be on board with, but they aren’t too crazy. He pulls the note up on his phone and hands it over, fingers brushing against Drake’s as he does so.

“Let’s talk through it, alright? I wanna make sure I understand exactly what you want.” Zayn wrinkles his nose a bit at that. It’s one thing for Drake to read what he’s interested in and it’s another for him to actually say it aloud.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be shy. Let’s start with an easy one.” Drake pauses to scan through the list, smiling crookedly at some of what he sees. “How about blow jobs? Hmm? D’you want me to suck you off?”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Zayn breathes before he can reconsider it. “But, um, I want to learn how, too. Could you teach me?” He doesn’t miss how Drake’s eyes flicker down to his lips.

“Of course. Do you wanna do it on your knees? Or with me laying down? Or - ”

“Knees,” Zayn says quickly, interrupting the older man before he can present more options that make his head spin. “On my knees with you sitting? Does that work?”

“That’s perfect, Z.” The simple praise makes Zayn feel warm inside and soft around the edges. ‘ _Safe_ ,’ he thinks, cutting through the haze of his low-burning anxiety. Drake makes him feel like he’s got nothing to be ashamed of and it’s liberating.

“Okay, next. ‘Talking’ - what does that mean?”

“I like hearing your voice. Helps me relax. And I like it when you - um - when you complement me? Like, not in a vain way, but just … I dunno.” He shrugs and wishes it was easier for him to find the right words.

Drake tilts his head, looking thoughtful for a few moments. “In the club, when I had you in my lap and called you pretty - you liked hearing that? Did it make you feel good?”

Zayn squirms in his efforts to ignore how his cock is filling up underneath his track bottoms and rubbing against the fabric. “Uh huh.”

“Figured you’d like dirty talk,” Drake says with a grin. “Didn’t take much of it to get you off then.”

He knows Drake is just teasing him and that it’s meant to be lighthearted and playful, but it’s hard to laugh when all the blood in his body is rushing to his dick. He nuzzles his face into Drake’s shoulder and huffs impatiently.

“Alright, alright. Just a few more things. We won’t get to everything tonight.” And, that’s absolutely fine with Zayn. He’s pretty sure that he’d actually die if they tried. “What’s this about my hands?”

Zayn actually groans at that, more because he has no idea how to explain it properly than anything else. “I dunno. Dunno what I was thinking when I wrote it.”

“Yeah you do. Go on, tell me.” Drake nudges him encouragingly.

“It’s - they’re just - they’re _big_. Like, way bigger than mine. And it’s not just your hands either. It’s all of you. I think I like how small you make me feel.” The last bit is said in barely more than a whisper, but their proximity means that Drake hears him just fine.

“ _Shit_ , baby boy.”

“I’m sorry is - is that okay?” Zayn desperately hopes he hasn’t said anything out of turn.

“Oh, you don’t have anything to apologize for. That’s … more than okay. Just surprised me with that one. It’s tricky, though. You’ll have to tell me what presses the right buttons.”

Zayn’s certain that anything Drake does will press a button he likes - he trusts the older man to take him through this and give him an unforgettable experience. From the beginning, Drake’s been careful about taking this slow while Zayn figures out what he wants. He appreciates the time and space he was given, but he doesn’t need it anymore. What he needs is the freedom to chart a course across Drake’s body and explore in a way that he’d been denied that night in Miami.

“Are we finished talking yet?” he asks, whining a little.

“Almost, baby. Last thing. You’ve got ‘fucking’ on here and it’s bolded. Does that mean -”

“Means I want you to _fuck_ me, _Aubrey_.” Zayn says, using his first name pointedly.

Drake swears under his breath right before he shifts to cup Zayn’s face with both his hands and pull him into a firm kiss. Drake nips at Zayn’s lower lip so he’ll open up and let his tongue inside. They fall into each other like they’re old lovers and it doesn’t take long for the kiss to get desperate and sloppy.

They’re wrapped around each other for what feels like ages, stoking their arousal until it’s too intense for either of them to bear. When they separate, they’re both sweating lightly and panting hard.

“Can I suck you off now?” Zayn asks breathlessly, palming Drake’s dick through his jeans with one hand and trying to undo his belt with the other. “Wanna do that before you fuck me.”

“Fuck, baby, ‘course you can. I’d love to see you on your knees for me. I bet you’d be perfect at it, too. Your mouth’s practically made for sucking dick. Almost can’t believe you haven’t done it before now. M’so lucky to get to show you how.”

Listening to Drake makes Zayn lose control of his hands. He can’t think straight long enough to get the older man's jeans undone and he makes a frustrated noise at the barrier between him and his prize.

Gently Drake pushes his hands away so he can do it himself. Zayn watches as he cants his hips up to shove his jeans and boxers down his thighs and legs, pulling them off along with his shoes. When Drake leans back against the couch, his cock is on display for Zayn, hard and thick, curving up towards his belly.

Zayn’s mouth is actually watering as he slides onto the floor and slots himself into the ‘v’ of Drake’s legs, sitting back on his heels. Impulsively, he sucks a trail of kisses up the inside of the older man’s thigh, reveling in how hard the muscle tenses under his mouth.

He pulls back reluctantly, turning his eyes up to focus on Drake’s face. “Tell me how you like it.”

“ _God_ ,” Drake groans. “Just - start with your hand around the base, yeah? Get a feel for it.”

Zayn licks a stripe across his palm to minimize the friction before wrapping his hand around Drake’s cock. He thinks it should feel similar to when he’s holding his own, but the weight and heat are somehow unfamiliar.

“Now get it wet.”

His big, brown eyes are still focused up on Drake as he slides his tongue over the underside of it for the first time. He maps the flesh out diligently, making sure that every inch he can reach is thoroughly explored. Slowly, he makes his way up to the head, remembering how much he liked it when the girls he was with paid attention to that spot.

When he’s there, he swirls his tongue around it before licking into the slit. The taste has an edge of bitterness, but it’s not unpleasant. He enjoys it, much to his surprise, and keeps lapping at the tip kitten-like for more of the flavor. When he’s had his fill, he returns to his careful exploration.

As he makes Drake’s cock slick with his spit, the older man keeps up a steady stream of praise, telling him how good he’s being and how much he can’t wait to fuck his mouth.

When Drake deems him ready, he reaches down to cover Zayn’s hand with his own and moves his cock so the tip rubs over Zayn’s lips, smearing precum over them like a lewd lip gloss.

“Listen, baby boy. Got a few things to tell you before we start. Don’t take down more than you can handle. You’re gonna have to practice before you can get all of me in your throat and that’s okay. Whatever you can do is more than good enough for me. You also won’t disappoint me if you decide you don’t like it and want to stop. This is still about what you want. ‘M just happy you’re letting me help you figure it out.”

As filthy as what Drake’s saying is, it’s also kind and considerate and completely without judgement. Zayn’s hit with a strong wave of a dozen emotions all tangled up together, all fighting to be expressed. Words are beyond him so he just whimpers and parts his lips, showing Drake he’s ready.

“Yeah, open up, baby. Gonna give you the first bit now, okay?”

Zayn nods and lets his mouth drop open even more, making sure to cover his teeth with his lips as Drake feeds him an inch of his cock. Without hesitation, he makes a seal, sucking lightly as he adjusts to breathing through his nose and relaxing his jaw. When he feels confident about taking more, he takes in a deep breath and slides down.

He doesn’t mean to, but he goes too far too quickly and gags a bit. It’s not strong enough to make him pull off entirely; he just eases back until he can catch his breath.

“Take your time, baby boy. Don’t gotta try and impress me, okay?” Drake tenderly thumbs the crease of Zayn’s mouth where it’s stretched wide around his dick. “It’ll be so much easier for you if you go slow.”

Zayn takes Drake’s advice, settling himself before working down to the place right before it got to be too much. He shifts his hand up to the ring of his lips to mark the spot.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Drake cups the back of Zayn’s head, not applying any pressure, just holding him. “Now that you know how much you can handle, you can set a rhythm.”

Zayn hums, sending vibrations through Drake’s most sensitive place, before he pulls all the way off with a wet ‘pop’. His lips are cherry red and already a little swollen from being stretched further than he's used to.

“Um. I want - I mean - will you take over on that part?” A look of confusion crosses Drake’s face so Zayn clarifies, blushing. “I want you to - to fuck my mouth. I don’t know why I want it, just do.”

“Oh baby,” Drake murmurs, stroking Zayn’s cheek affectionately. “How can I say no when you ask me so sweetly?”

He moves his hand from Zayn’s face back down to his dick so he can replace Zayn’s hand with his own. He slides his dick over Zayn’s lips, looking a little awed.

“I’ll take real good care of you,” he promises as he starts to ease inside again, pushing Zayn’s head down as he lifts his hips up. “All you have to do is relax and take it.”

True to his word, Drake never goes further than Zayn can handle and he keeps his pace slow and steady. From his experience being on the receiving end, Zayn can guess how this feels for Drake. What he didn’t anticipate was how much he would love the ache in his jaw and his knees and the sensation of a cock pressing into his mouth unrelentingly. His own cock is hard and leaking profusely and he’s barely touched it; being on his knees like this is enough. There’s something deeply satisfying about letting the older man just take what he needs without fussing over getting off, too. His cock is crying for attention, but all he wants is for Drake to cum.

After a while, he really can’t control how wet his eyes are getting or the obscene noises he makes or the way he drools all over the cock keeping his jaw pried open. Drake doesn’t seem to mind though; he just keeps on holding Zayn steady while he fucks him.

Drake has incredible stamina, but he can’t last forever. Zayn knows he’s getting close when his pace starts to pick up a bit and he gets rougher with his thrusts. His control is wavering, but he refuses to let it go entirely, refuses to chance hurting Zayn even a little bit for his own pleasure.

He groans reluctantly when he pulls out of Zayn’s mouth. He’s pumping at himself furiously and Zayn can tell that it won’t be long now. “Gonna cum, baby. How d’you want it?”

“Can you - on my face?” He asks, voice rough from getting his mouth fucked. “Always liked the way that looked in the videos I watched.”

Drake’s hand tightens in his hair. “ _Fuck yes_. I’ll make you messy with it, get it all over you -”

Zayn looks up at Drake intently as he jerks off, the gleam in his eyes saying that he’s ready, willing, and able to take whatever the older man has to give. He sticks his fat, pink tongue out just as Drake start to cum. Most of it hits the right side of his face, striping his cheek and chin, the white striking against the dark hair of Zayn's stubble. Some lands on his tongue, and the rest speckles the exposed areas of his chest.

A soft, “ _fuck_ ,” slips through Drake’s lips as he wrings himself dry and watches Zayn swallow thickly.

“Baby boy you look so gorgeous like that. Wish I could take a picture of you and keep it forever. Don’t ever wanna forget what you look like with my cum all over your face.”

Zayn wants to be reckless and say that he could, but even now he knows it’s a bad idea. Phones can get stolen and hacked and the last thing he needs is the world seeing a picture of him like this.

 _‘Maybe I should get him a polaroid camera,_ ’ he thinks, smiling dopily, high on the satisfaction of making Drake proud.

He sighs and rests his head against Drake’s thigh, idly looking on as the older man pulls off his shirt. Drake’s body is impressive, but Zayn doesn’t get much time to admire it just then because he’s being pulled up onto the couch so his face can get cleaned off. Mentally, he puts off washing up until later. Leaving Drake’s side isn’t high on his list of current priorities.

“I really, really liked that,” he says, giving Drake a brief, chaste kiss. “Liked, um, not being in control for a bit. Thank you.”

“Won’t be the last time, hopefully.” Drake wiggles his eyebrows playfully, prompting Zayn to let out an amused snort. “But, before we get to that - I’m fairly certain you said something about wanting to get fucked earlier. If that’s still the case, you should get naked and we should move this to the bedroom.”

Zayn presses their lips together one last time before he gets up. As he leads Drake to his bedroom, he sheds the few articles of clothing that he’s wearing. When Drake presses him into the mattress, they’re touching skin-to-skin. Zayn’s still hard and it’s obvious, rubbing intently against Drake.

He tries to grind up for more friction, but the other man tuts and pulls away. “Not yet, not like that. Did you get the stuff I asked for?”

Drake’s earlier text had included a list of “supplies” they’d need. Zayn had most of them already, but there were a few he had to ask his personal shopper to procure, much to his embarrassment.

“In the nightstand. Top drawer.”

Drake knee-walks across the bed to root through it, returning once he’s retrieved the lube and condom.

“Turn over and get your knees up under you.” Zayn grumbles about it, but complies. He’s not happy about being denied a quick orgasm.

When he’s face down ass up, he pillows his head with his arms to make himself more comfortable. “Get on with it,” he grouses, doing his best not to think about how exposed and vulnerable he is.

Drake chuckles as he bends over Zayn, pressing his chest snugly to his back. “You don’t want to rush this part, trust me.”

He thrusts lazily, letting his cock slip between Zayn’s cheeks a few times before sliding backwards, trailing kisses down Zayn’s spine all the while. He slicks his fingers with lube as he does this and Zayn doesn’t notice what Drake’s playing at until his cheeks are being parted.

He tenses up against the potential intrusion reflexively, but it doesn’t come. For now, Drake’s only rubbing the tip of his finger against Zayn’s rim, getting the skin there slick and shiny.

“Relax, baby boy. Nothing’s going to happen until you ask for it, okay?” Drake settles a hand on his lower back and the weight of it is comforting. Still, it takes a few minutes of that gentle rubbing for the tension to bleed out of Zayn’s shoulders.

He makes a low, contemplative noise before turning his face towards where he feels Drake is. “I think I’m good.”

The other man nods, though Zayn isn’t in a position to see it. “The stretch is going to be a little uncomfortable for you; there’s no way around that the first time. It shouldn’t be too painful though. If it is, tell me and I’ll stop right away so we can figure something else out. Just keep calm and let me in.”

He keeps up the rubbing, but with pressure now that it has more of a purpose. Slow as anything, Drake starts to slide the tip of his finger inside. It’s thick and Zayn’s tight, but it’s not enough to elicit a strong response just yet. It feels strange more than anything else.

As with everything else, Drake takes his time, peppering Zayn’s lower back with kisses and moving his hand to rub in circles over the skin of Zayn’s belly as he works his middle finger inside.

“You’re doing so well,” he says as he gets it in to the knuckle. “How do you feel?”

Zayn shifts back against it a little, humming as more of it slips into him. “S’okay. Doesn’t hurt.” He pushes back again. “More,” he says, and it’s a demand, not a question.

Drake complies, bringing another slicked up finger in and _pushing_. The fit on this one is even tighter and Zayn grimaces. He doesn’t have to voice his discomfort, though. Drake anticipates it and stills his movement, waiting for Zayn to adjust.

When Zayn gives him the go ahead, he begins to scissor his fingers shallowly, stretching Zayn out for the even bigger intrusion to come. Drake encourages him the whole time, telling him how grateful he is that Zayn’s being patient with him and how good it’s going to feel when the discomfort fades away. The tenderer his words are, the more malleable Zayn is under his hands. Drake wonders if Zayn knows how much power he gives over to people when they sweet talk him.

“Gonna use three fingers now, okay?”

Zayn shakes his head and whines impatiently. “I’m ready _now_.”

“I know you want my dick, but you gotta let me take care of you first. Fingers don’t always feel pleasant at first, but you need ‘em if you’re going to enjoy me fucking you. My dick’s a lot bigger than these fingers.” Drake’s not saying that to brag, he’s just relaying the reality of the situation to Zayn. “I’ll do three for a bit and if you say it feels good, I’ll fuck you.”

Zayn acquiesces. He doesn’t mind the fingers, really, they just don’t do anything for him and his opinion doesn’t change with addition of the third one.

At first, the stretch actually crosses the line from discomfort into pain. Zayn bears it with gritted teeth, helped along by Drake’s constant stream of praise. It takes much longer for that ache to fade away, but when it does, he’s left feeling like Drake is prying him apart.

“God, you’re tight. And so _small_. Dunno if I can even fit in you. Don’t wanna split you open.” Drake pulls his fingers out nearly all the way, pushing them back in firmly, twisting them at the end. The angle is the best one yet. Something about it sends shocks up Zayn’s spine, drawing an embarrassingly loud moan from him.

“Is that the spot?” he asks curiously, giving his fingers an experimental thrust.

The noise Zayn makes this time is choked off because he’s biting his lip, but it’s still what Drake was hoping to hear. Smirking wickedly, he applies pressure and works his fingers over that spot relentlessly, until Zayn’s swearing and rocking his hips back for more.

Drake fucks him with his fingers until his cock’s hard again and hanging heavy between his legs, twitching at every rub against his prostate. He starts to feel his arousal coiling tight like a spring low in his belly and he begs for his release with his body. His legs open wider and his toes curl into the sheets so he can get enough leverage to ride Drake’s fingers properly.

He reaches for his cock intending to finish the job Drake’s started, but his hand is intercepted. Drake threads their fingers together and uses his weight to pin Zayn down.

“You’re going to cum on my dick,” he says matter-of-factly, like he’s talking about tomorrow’s weather.

“Then fuck me already!” The words come out louder than Zayn means them to, but he doesn’t apologize or take it back. Drake’s kept him waiting long enough.

“Patience, baby.” Drake pulls away, fiddling with something Zayn can’t see.

“I’ve been patient this entire - _oh_.” Whatever he was going to say is forgotten as Drake snubs the head of his dick against Zayn’s hole.

“Gonna give you my dick now, just how you wanted it.” His voice sounds strained as he actually starts pushing inside, making Zayn open up for him. Zayn’s so tight it’s amazing that he can even get the tip in.

“You’re taking me so well, baby boy,” he says as he sinks in, going one inch at a time until he’s fully sheathed. It’s a torturous pace for him, but he knows it’s worse for Zayn. Drake can see how hard Zayn is trying to relax underneath him, how much he’s struggling to make his body adjust around the heft of Drake’s dick.

The air in the room is completely still as he waits for Zayn to decide whether or not this is something he can actually handle.

“Want me to pull out?” Drake asks after a while, stroking over Zayn’s side in a way he hopes is comforting.

“ _No_.” Zayn’s answer is immediate and passionately stated. “Sorry ‘m taking so long s’just - I’m so _full_. Hurts, yeah, but mostly I can’t think because your cock’s in me.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Drake says firmly. “Don’t say sorry for taking the time you need to process. This feels incredible for me already. Want it to feel the same way for you, too.” Later on, he plans on asking Zayn why he feels like his comfort is an inconvenience and not something he deserves. It’s a concern Drake’s had since the beginning, though now is definitely not the time to fixate on it. Not when he’s balls deep in the most beautiful man he’s ever met and finally being asked to move.

“Maybe it’ll help if you do,” Zayn explains. “Just go slow, yeah?”

Drake huffs out a slightly offended, “ _Of course_ ,” before he starts.

He eases Zayn into it by pulling out a bit - not more than an inch - and grinding back into Zayn, deep. He does it until Zayn starts letting out little breathy moans and asking for more.

He pulls out further and further with each subsequent thrust, going until he withdraws from Zayn entirely and sinks back into him with one long, smooth movement. The muscles in Zayn’s back spasm and he clamps down on Drake like a vise before he relaxes all at once, his front slumping bonelessly down onto the mattress.

“Again,” he slurs. “Harder.”

Drake obliges, picking up the pace until the sound of skin slapping against skin and Zayn’s cries are ringing in his ears. In the moment, Drake is certain that fucking into the heat of Zayn’s tight, lithe body is as close to heaven as he’ll ever get. He really can’t get over how well Zayn is taking to being dicked for the first time; it’s like his body was made for it.

Drake’s only regret is that they’re not face to face right now, though he isn’t pressed about it. Before the weekend’s over, he’s going to have Zayn in every position he can imagine, bend him over every piece of furniture in his house, and make him cum so many times they lose count. It’s selfish, but he wants to wreck Zayn for every man that comes after him, wants to make it so that no one could ever hope to compare to him. When everything’s said and done, he’s going to be Zayn’s impossible standard.

“How’s it feel?” And, the question is almost rhetorical because the answer is so obvious. “Never thought a pretty little thing like you would love dick so much, but I’m so glad you do.

Saying that watching Zayn come undone is a privilege and an honor might be dramatic, but Drake doesn’t do anything by halves.

“Think you can take more?” He asks because, as much as he wants to pound Zayn into the mattress so hard it makes him cry, he doesn’t intend on ever giving Zayn more than he can handle.

“ _Pleasepleaseplease_ ,” Zayn begs, bouncing back onto Drake’s dick. The effects of being kept on edge for so long are finally starting to settle in and they ratchet up his desperation exponentially. Usually, he prefers gentleness and slow builds, but Drake inspires a different, sluttier kind of passion within him. “I need to cum, please make me cum.”

There’s a hitch in the rhythm before Drake grips his hips and fucks into him hard and deep, deliberately shifting the angle so he’s nailing his sweet spot dead on. Zayn _wails_ , scrambling for purchase and gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles start to go white.

“Go on and jerk yourself off, baby. Want you to make yourself cum around me, wanna feel you get nice and tight when you shoot.” The response Drake gets from Zayn is an incoherent string of noises accompanied by fervent nodding right before he does as he’s been told.

Messily, he spits into his palm and wraps his hand around his aching cock. He hisses at the rough contact, using the precum leaking steadily from his tip to ease the way. He’s too out of his mind with pleasure to care about exactly matching the intense rhythm Drake’s set so he just goes for speed, the way he usually does when he’s alone and wanting to get off as quickly as possible.

The wet sound of his furious pumping seems to set the other man off because, quite suddenly, Zayn finds himself being twisted onto his back and enveloped by Drake’s big body. His legs are shifted up, spread wide around Drake’s waist, and the hand gripping his cock gets caught between them with just enough room to keep moving.

Drake surges forward to suck a bruise into the underside of Zayn’s collarbone before letting his mouth hover near his ear.

“Mmm, that’s it. I wanna see you get _messy_ again. You looked so fucking gorgeous that night when you came right in my hand, I swear I’d never seen anything like it. Was so hard for me to say no to you. You know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t? Would’ve gotten you naked and had you sit on my dick right _there_.” He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust that makes Zayn keen high in his throat.

“But, you know, I’m glad I didn’t ‘cause this is so much better. Getting to stretch you open and take care of you properly is so much _fucking_ better, baby boy.”

The absolute filth Drake spills into his ear is what gets him there in the end. He’s never had a partner who wanted to be that explicitly vocal and it’s so overwhelming Zayn can’t help himself. His eyes go wide, his swollen lips form a perfect little ‘o’, and the muscles in his abdomen tighten impossibly.

When he comes it feels like he’s emptying himself of all the tension he’s been holding in for the past few months. The unadulterated pleasure that blasts through his senses makes him forget everything but how Drake’s taken him apart with his hands and his mouth and his cock. As he spurts over their bellies, he feels like he’s been ruined and he finds that he doesn’t mind at all.

Drake’s still fucking him as he whimpers through the aftershocks, still spinning a dizzying web of words that makes Zayn flush down to his chest. He tells Zayn how good he’s been, how glad he is that he’s the first man to show Zayn how to suck dick and beg for it just right, that later he’s going to fuck him ‘till he can’t even walk. If he wasn’t dealing with near painful over sensitivity, his hand would be tugging at his cock again, trying to wring out another orgasm. As things are, he literally can’t do anything besides lay there taking it, weakly clamping down on Drake as his pace get unconsisten.

“Oh fuck baby _boy_ , I’m right there -”

“Yeah,” Zayn slurs, egging him on. “Finish in me, fill me up. You’ll be the first to do that, too. The only one -”

Drake crushes their lips together, bottoming out one last time before he shoots into the condom. His hips jerk for a little while afterwards, until he’s got nothing left to give. He sighs against Zayn’s mouth and all his muscles seems to relax at once. His weight presses Zayn into the mattress, but it’s not oppressive at all and he enjoys the pleasant reminder of just how much bigger than him the other man is.

They both bask in the post-orgasmic warmth that covers them, clinging to each other and breathing heavily.

Eventually Drake pulls out and, though he takes his time and does it slowly, Zayn still hisses because of the ache.

Drake hums and presses a comforting kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You okay, Z? Are you hurting badly?”

Zayn shakes his head quietly, still struggling to put the pieces of his shattered brain back together so he can manage words. He doesn’t miss the concerned frown that flits across Drake’s face at his lack of response.

“‘M good. Promise. Just sore.” Not the most eloquent set of statements he’s made, but it’s better than nothing. Enough to soothe his partner’s worries, he hopes.

Drake rolls off carefully and fixes Zayn with a look that says he isn’t quite convinced.

“ _Promise_ ,” Zayn repeats emphatically. “You should be pleased. You broke me with your dick.”

Drake snorts and shakes his head. He gets up to toss the condom in the trash, returning moments later to sit on the bed’s edge. “We should clean up.”

“No. ‘M too tired,” Zayn says, not caring about how spoiled he sounds.  

“You’ll be sticky and disgusting in the morning,” Drake warns.

“S’okay,” he murmurs sleepily. “You will be, too. We can shower together.” There’s the promise of something more intimate in that, but it’ll have to wait until later. Zayn’s been wrung out of every bit of desire he started the day with. There’s nothing left for him to give right now. Aside from the physical exhaustion, he feels satisfied down to his bones. “Switch the light off and come give us a cuddle.”

“Y’know,” Drake says as he draws Zayn up into his arms, “I’d almost forgotten you were British until just now.”

“Can’t imagine how you managed that with my accent.” Drake can’t see his face in the darkness, but he knows Zayn is grinning.

“You’ve got a very American attitude,” Drake says, faking defensiveness.

“Aren’t you Canadian?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. Shut up and go to sleep, Zayn.”

He lets out a soft, triumphant sound that devolves into a yawn. As he drifts off with Drake curled around him, he thinks about the fact that they’ve got two more days of this.

It’s going to be a good weekend.


End file.
